bruises and butterflies
by Hidding-In-Shadows
Summary: Bellamy Blake is just trying to make enough to get his little sister through college, but having help from an indecisive pre-med student didn't sound as bad as he thought it would. (Underground Boxing AU)
1. Chapter 1

**bruises and butterflies**

* * *

Chapter One

The blood on his face had dried hours ago, but he could still taste it in his mouth.

Bellamy groaned as he rested his forehead against his hands, dirty with blood and dust and littered with old and new bruises. His knuckles ached despite being wrapped up when he was throwing the punches. His head was throbbing from the swing that his last opponent had gotten in. That fight wasn't one of his bests, but it wasn't his worse. He was three hundred dollars richer, but also ten times more exhausted. Three matches in one night was enough to kill anyone else, but Bellamy had been doing this for years.

Two of the guys he went up against were new, young kids who looked barely a day over sixteen. They had said that they wanted to test the water before committing. It was a shame that they were put up against Bellamy, they didn't even get a chance to land a single hit on him. The first fight took probably only a minute to finish, the little ginger was on the ground sobbing after only one punch to the nose. The second one stood up a little longer, but dropped after Bellamy gave him a solid elbow in the nose. He could still remember the feeling of the bone breaking under his blow. Bellamy shivered, whether from the memory or the cool air, he didn't know.

The last guy was someone he'd fought a couple of times, some guy named John, though he preferred going by his last name, Murphy. He was only a year younger then Bellamy, but had been fighting since he was a young kid, thrown onto the streets after both his parents died in some shoot out. Bellamy only knew this because of the handful of drinks he'd served the guy a couple nights ago. He wasn't a bad guy, Murphy, but he wasn't exactly one that Bellamy wanted to be in bad terms with.

Bellamy couldn't shake the look of some other guy that was there though, one of those big, tattooed silent guys that stood in the back just watching. He was practically drilling holes into Bellamy, studying him as he fought. Bellamy tried to think back to when he first saw the guy in the underground fight ring, but trying to hunt for the memory only made his head throb even more.

The sound of a car rumbling pulled Bellamy from his thoughts and he looked up to see an old, beat up Buick Regal come to a rolling stop a few feet from him. The drivers door opened and Bellamy closed his eyes, hanging his head. Gravel crunched under the heels of whoever was walking towards him and he sighed heavily when they stopped in front of him.

"Bell," the voice of his little sister was low and threatening.

"O," he said, looking up to her with a small smile. Her green eyes looked like steel under the dim street light and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her eyes softened at the sight of his bloody and bruised face and she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Come on," she mumbled, "let's get you home."

* * *

It took three tries to start her car back up.

Bellamy leaned his head against the window, inhaling the flowery scent that was given off from the air freshener on her rearview mirror. The car rattled as they made their way down the pothole filled road, each bump making his headache more intense. Octavia was quiet on the way home, only glancing over at Bellamy everytime he shifted in his seat as he tried to relieve pressure on his aching and bruising body.

They pulled into their apartment complex, and Bellamy glanced up at the letters that formed the name of their complex. DROPSHORE APARTMENTS flashed in bright red letters, only the O and E were out, along with the leg of one of the R's, making it look like DROPSHP APARTMENTS.

Their trip up to the third floor was silent. Octavia let out a little curse as she tried to unlock the door in pitch black. Bellamy stood behind her, pressing a hand to her shoulder as she finally jammed the key in and unlocked the door. The siblings shuffled in and Octavia locked the door back up as Bellamy shuffled to the bathroom, toeing his shoes off on the way.

"I'll be there in a second," Octavia called from the main room, which consisted of the living room and kitchen, "I'm going to start up some tea for your headache."

Bellamy started up the routine, opening the rusty mirror door to the medicine cabinet over the sink. He grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a blood stained rag. Despite the many times the rag had been washed, his blood still tainted the clothe. Bellamy soaked a bit of the rag with the alcohol and looked at himself in the mirror. His left eye was beginning to swell and the bridge of his nose was turning a mustard yellow. His bottom lip was split and there was a deep gash on the side of his cheek, probably from Murphy scratching him. As he patted the rag to his cheek, he hissed in pain, glaring at his reflection.

"Stop that," Octavia growled from the door of the small bathroom, "let me do it, idiot."

Bellamy handed her the rag and sat on top of the toilet, leaning forward a little. Octavia stood in front of his knees, gently rubbing away the dried blood. She dabbed his lip with a frown on her face, her brows furrowing.

"You know," she said as she reached to soak the rag in more alcohol, "I could just get a job. Thats a totally reasonable thing for me to do, a totally normal thing kids do nowadays, if you didn't know."

"You need to concentrate on school," he answered gruffly, wincing as she started on his cheek.

"I am," he sighed, "I have all A's, my professors love me, and I have plenty of free time, plenty of free time that I can use to get a job."

"Your the first to make it through a year of college, O," Bellamy said, looking down to his hands as she stopped cleaning his cheek, "and I don't want you to make the same mistake as the rest of us."

"Oh, so you're saying that it was a mistake for you to drop out and take care of me?" She arched a brow at him, wearing the same small smile that he wore early in the night.

"That's not what I meant, I-"

"Chill Bell," she laughed, grabbing his hand and wiping his knuckles clean, "I was joking."

"You're not getting a job," Bellamy said, "This scholarship is paying for half of your college, and I'm paying for the other half. I want you to focus on that, I don't want you to stress over anything else."

"You can't protect me forever, Bellamy," she grumbled, letting his hand go and starting on the other one, "I'm nineteen for God sakes."

"And I'm still older than you," he hissed, the rubbing alcohol stinging his wounds, "and you're living under my jurisdiction."

"Wow, big word bro," Octavia snickered, "but when summer comes along, I'm getting a job. There is no way I'm staying cooped up in this stinky apartment all that time."

"It's not stinky," he grumbled, but Octavia just laughed her sweet laugh and made him smile. She leaned down and kissed his head.

"Take a shower and get to bed. The tea's going to be waiting for you on the counter."

She closed the door behind her and Bellamy let out a shuddering breath. He rolled his throbbing shoulders, ran his fingers through his matted hair and then started a shower. The pipe creaked and moaned as he waited for the water to stream out of the tiny shower head and stripped down. His body ached and bruises smattered his skin. He winced as he saw one in the mirror, a particularly nasty on on his ribs that was turning blue and purple.

The hot water made his tan skin turn red, along with helping the tension in his muscles to melt away. He was glad that Octavia hadn't taken a shower earlier in the night, otherwise he would be standing in freezing cold water. His hair was plastered to his face and he let the water wash over him, hoping that it would wash away everything he's done, all the fights he's been in, all the sad looks Octavia has given him, all the bills that had begun to pile up on the kitchen table.

His towel was curled in a corner, damp from the shower he took last night, so he took Octavia's, which was always hanging and dry. He made a mental note to toss it in the dryer before going to bed so she wouldn't freak at him for using it and leaving her towel-less.

The AC kicked in, a low humming echoing through the house as Bellamy made his way to his own room which was right down the hall, at the very end. It was a small room, consisting only of a dresser, a single bed, and a bookshelf. One of the walls was made entirely of brick, and despite of being made of such strong material, he could still hear the couple next door fight and fuck.

He left his room in sweatpants and some old t-shirt from high school. He checked on Octavia, looking through the crack in her door, a soft glow from the pink nightlight at the end of her bed gently illuminated her room. White sheets were pulled high, but Bellamy could see the top of her head on the pillow, brown hair sprawled about.

He retired to the main room, grabbing the warm tea from the kitchen table, which was a sad excuse for it just being a foldable plastic table. He settled onto the couch, one of the things he'd gotten from his mother. The TV in front of him stayed off and he listened to the hum of the AC.

The tea was gone in a few minutes and his headache was starting to dull out. He glanced at the time on the cable box and sighed. 2AM. Even though his body was exhausted, his mind was still racing. Bellamy switched on the lamp next to him and leaned across to the coffee table, picking up an old book he got when he was first in college.

Study of Greek Tragedies.

He was halfway done with the first chapter when his eyelids started to drop. His head begins to tilt back on the couch and he jerks himself awake a few times only to finally have the book slide into his lap from his fingers and his curls cover his eyes as exhaustion finally took him.

* * *

He wakes up to light shinning through the cracks in the blinds.

He sat up, grumbling at the kink in his neck. He took in his and Octavia's apartment for a moment. The main room consisted of the living room and kitchen, separated by the old, gray carpet that stopped about two thirds across the room, replaced by white tiling. The living room was homey, the walls painted a pale blue. The old couch he sat on was black and velvety, and when someone sat directly in the middle of it, they'd sink in. There was an old oak coffee table with cup stains and books for Octavia's classes on it, and against the wall was their TV.

The walls held only a few pictures, one of Bellamy and Octavia at her high school graduation, another of the full family, which was four of them a few years back, and lastly was the one with them and all their friends. Bellamy smiled gently at the picture, the only one that was large enough to make out the faces from across the room.

There was Bellamy on the end with his arm over Octavia's shoulder, his little sister leaning her head on the boy's shoulder next to her, Monty, while her arm was thrown around both of their waists. Jasper stood next to Monty, his ridiculous goggles pushed up to the top of his hair and his face scrunched into a wide smile. Nathan, or Miller, as he preferred, stood next to him. On the very other end was Harper, ginger hair pulled back and lips in a tight smile.

Bellamy let out a huff as he stood up and then trudged over to the kitchen, glancing at the time on the stove. It was almost ten in the afternoon, but he was glad he got some sleep. He adjusted himself, yawning while scanning the kitchen to find something to eat. He spotted a bright pink post-it note on the handle of a coffee cup and leaned down, squinting at his sisters familiar loopy handwriting.

Class at nine. Breakfast in microwave.

-O

"Thanks little sis," he mumbled, grabbing the coffee cup and opening the microwave. Tinfoil covered a paper plate and he removed it, humming happily at the sight of bacon and a biscuit. He settled his coffee cup next to the plate and started warming up his breakfast.

His phone buzzed some somewhere in the house and he searched around, finding it under his pillow on his bed. He unlocked the screen, groaning at three new text messages from Miller, asking for him to call. Bellamy quickly dialed his friends number as the microwave dinged.

"Hey Bell," Miller said gruffly on the other line, "glad you called."

"What's up," Bellamy said, grabbing his breakfast, "I'm just about to eat."

"Think you could make it down here in an, ah, hour or so?"

Bellamy dropped his plate on the table as he took a long sip from his coffee. It was too early to be thinking about the bar, especially after last nights fights. The 100 was an awesome bar, and he loved working there, but having to go in and stay longer then he wanted to wasn't one of his favorite things.

"What for?"

"Wick's sick," Miller huffed, "and we still haven't found a replacement for Monroe."

Bellamy hummed in acknowledgement, remembering that Monroe had left a couple weeks ago for some big college scholarship in New York or something. He took a bite from his bacon, thinking.

"Come on Bell," Miller groaned from the other line, "I can't do this myself, it's Friday night."

"Do I get overtime?"

"Bellamy-"

"Overtime and I'll come in," Bellamy said, finishing his bacon and began to tear apart the biscuit, "I'll even stay late too."

"Fine," Miller grumbled, "but this is the only time you get overtime."

"Only time I'll need it."

"Are you late on bills again? Cause I can-"

"Don't worry about it," Bellamy sighed, "it's nothing a few more fights can't handle. Honestly, the bills are due in two weeks, I have more than enough time to get the money."

Miller was quiet for a few moments as Bellamy finished up his breakfast. Bellamy could practically hear him thinking on the other line and was about to tell him to stop when Miller gruffly told him to get there by eleven thirty before he hung up. Bellamy tossed his phone on the kitchen table and finished the rest of his coffee before washing the dishes. Octavia would flip if she came home to a dirty sink, or dirty anything.

He took one last glance at the picture on the wall, wonder just how him and his friends had lasted this long despite their ups and downs. He just shook his head and trudged to the bathroom, hoping that Octavia had saved him some hot water.

* * *

The bar was practically empty, which was expected at eleven in the afternoon.

Bellamy nodded to the only guy who was there, some forty something man with a glass of whiskey and whiskers on his chin. Must have had a rough morning, or life, to be drinking this early.

Miller was behind the bar, stocking up the back shelf of liquor. Bellamy just gave him a pat on the shoulder as he walked by before slipping through the door door behind the bar. Behind the scenes of the bar consisted of a small kitchen where Miller and Bellamy usually switched off every hour or so with flipping burgers or frying onion rings for people, and a large storage room that had boxes of beer, and a large cooler. There was a small hallway that the rooms were connected to and at the end was a large double door, which was wide open at the moment. A small truck sat right up to the door, the back open and boxes sitting there.

He grunted as he picked one of the boxes up, bottles clinking together inside. He trudged back to the storage room and set the box down. One down, twenty more to go.

After two hours or so of moving boxes, checking them, and putting everything in its correct spot, Bellamy felt like the overtime wasn't really worth it. He left the back and stood behind the bar, groaning and letting his head rest in his hands, elbow perched on top the bar. Miller gave his back a hard pat.

"You can take a break if you want," Miller said, leaning against the bar next to Bellamy, "you have a long night ahead of you."

"The list's done already?" Bellamy grunted, looking up to his friend. Miller simply nodded, lips tight as he gave Bellamy one of his you should stop doing this shit looks. Bellamy rolled his eyes and stood up straighter, rolling his shoulders.

"Nothing big," Miller said as he turned and reach under the counter, pulling up a thick binder. He flipped through is until landing on a page that had the date on it, "Murphy's taking the night off, Anya is going up against Indra, which should be interesting. That scrap that you got out in one hit last night is going up against Connor."

"Who am I up with?" Bellamy asked, glancing to the door of the bar as a few guys walked in, ties loose and eyes tired.

"I'm not quite sure what he looks like," Miller said, scratching at his chin, "but I've heard the name a few times. I just can't put the face to the name …,"

"Just tell me."

"Lincoln."


	2. Chapter 2

**bruises and butterflies**

* * *

Chapter Two

The shrill cry of her alarm clock tore the nightmare away and replaced it with reality, which was sometimes even more frightening.

Clarke hissed in pain as she stretched across her bed, a muscle in her back straining. The alarm clock still screamed and she slapped it a few times before finally shutting it up. The green numbers told her that it was only nine in the morning, but it felt much earlier. Clarke rolled onto her back, huffing blonde hair out of her face. She needed a haircut.

After a few minutes of laying in silence, Clarke pulled herself out of bed and shuffled out of her room. She cursed lightly as her cat curled around her feet, almost making her trip. After finally making it into the kitchen, the cat still trying to trip her, she started up a pot of coffee, sighing happily at the sound of the machine starting up.

"Let's see what's on the news today," she grumbled to her cat, leaning down and picking him up. The long limbed tabby purred happily as she scratched his chin, making her way to the living room.

The spacious studio almost seemed too large for her at times, the living room holding a long, white leather couch that curved around a dark, rich wooden coffee table. The flat screen TV her mother had given her as a graduation present sprang to life as Clarke put her cat down and pressed one of the many buttons on the remote.

The familiar rumble of the news casters voice filled her room and she sighed, closing her eyes. The smell of coffee wafted into the living room shortly and it felt like the day was going to be okay for once.

"Shit," she moaned as her phone went off in the other room. She stepped over her cat and into her bedroom, spotting the lit up phone on top of her bed sheets. Glancing at it, she saw the picture of a young girl, tongue sticking out and shades on. Octavia's name flashed across the screen and Clarke couldn't help but smile.

"Hey O," she mumbled sleepily. She wasn't a morning person.

"Wake up sleepy pants," Octavia hummed from the other end. Clarke could hear music in the background. "I'm, like, ten minutes away. We're getting breakfast before class."

"Octavia …,"

"No way, you are not ditching on me this time," Octavia snorted, "come on, I know the perfect waffle house. Their maple syrup waffles are to die for. They put the syrup in the mix before making those delicious, fattening devils."

"I still need to shower."

"Then get on it Griffin!"

The line cut off and Clarke groaned. Her coffee machine had just gone off and the weather forecast was up and she had to take a shower.

Her back ached and she's pretty sure there was still some conditioner in her hair, but the doorbell was going crazy and she'd get killed by her neighbors if she let it go on. Wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, she ripped the door open to see Octavia standing there, sunglasses perched atop her head and hip tossed to the side.

"You really need to give me a key," Octavia sighed, and then glanced down the hall, "even if your neighbor is hot."

"Ew, hurry up and come in before said neighbor comes out here and starts yelling."

"Mmm, I'm sure he's hot while yelling too …"

"Octavia!"

The younger girl laughed, throwing her head back as she walked into the studio. Clarke closed the door behind her, rolling her eyes at the girl as she slumped onto the leather couch. Clarke mumbled that she'd be a second before disappearing in her bedroom for a few minutes. She returned in jeans and a pale, worn out light blue shirt, her hair pulled back into a sloppy braid. Octavia gave her a wide smile before jumping up from the couch.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go," she chanted like a child, grabbing Clarke's hand, "we have an hour before class."

"I need my bag, hold on," Clarke chuckled, grabbing the messanger bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

The volkswagen had seen better days, but Octavia loved the 1995 Beetle with all her heart. It was white and had a few rusty parts, and the engine clicked when she idled at a stoplight, but it had brown leather interior and shells hanging from the rearview mirror. Her older brother, whom Clarke had yet to met, was apparently a car expert and had put the leather in himself. Octavia swore up and down that he was going to fix the car up, and every once in a while, a new piece would look shinny, or the ride was smoother, or the AC didn't smell like exhaust.

"It's called The Phoenix," Octavia hummed as the two girls slowed at a stoplight, "Bell use to take me there all the time when I was younger."

"How come I haven't met your brother yet," Clarke asked, leaning against the window as she flipped through the holder of CDs. "I mean, we've been friends since the beginning of the year and you always talk about him. I would have thought you'd, ya know, introduce us by now."

"What, think he's as hot as me?"

"Just because I hit on you once …"

"I took it as a compliment," Octavia winked and Clarke chuckled, turning to look out the window. They rode in a comfortable silence for the rest of the way.

The Phoenix turned out to be a small, hole in the wall breakfast dinner that was smooshed in a building next to a hair salon and a cigar shop. Despite the rugged appearance, in atmosphere inside was welcoming. The walls were painted a cheery yellow and the tiled floor reminded Clarke of her childhood home. Soft music played in the background and about half of the booths and tables were taken. The back dinner top had five stools and Octavia tugged Clarke's hand so they could claim two of them. Pies and cakes littered the top of it and Clarke could feel her stomach begging for a slice.

"Octavia," a cheerful voice came from the back of the dinner top and Clarke looked to see a girl their age, hair pulled back in a French braid. Her eyes were clear and bright and a pen was stuck behind her ear.

"Roma, this is my friend Clarke. Clarke, this is Roma. I've known her basically my whole life."

"Good to see Octavia's making friends at the University," Roma smirked, sliding her eyes to the brunette before cracking a wide smile to Clarke, "she's been coming alone for a few weeks now. Speaking of which, where is that hunk you call your brother."

"First, ew," Octavia scrunched her face up, grimacing, "second, he picked up another job. But today he went on down to the bar to help out with Miller."

"Still working there, hm?" Roma hummed, turning and grabbing two coffee mug off the counter behind her as someone in the back room slipped two plates of hot food through the window. "Here, let me fill you guys on up and run this order."

Clarke cradled the mug in her hands, happy beyond belief to finally have some coffee. She took a big gulp, sighing happily as it settled into her stomach and made her feel awake, finally.

"Speaking about my brother," Octavia turned on her stool, facing Clarke, "do you wanna go on down to his bar tonight? Their having one of those 'ladies drink free' nights."

"I'd love to O, but-"

"But you're busy with your whole pre-med thing." Octavia sighed, propping her cheek in her hand, "I understand. Your career is more important than your best friend."

"I'll make it up to you," Clarke smirked, nudging her knee with her own, "we can go shopping and you can pick out one of my outfits?"

"Two and a pair of shoes, then we're even."

Clarke laughed and Octavia blew her a kiss before leaning across the counter, eyeing the chalkboard menu.

"Alright," she hummed, "now, should I get banana walnut waffles, or strawberry pecan pancakes?"

Clarke adjusted the folder in her hand while going to take a bite out of her apple with the other. The file on the patient seemed pretty normal, but no one else could really figure out what was wrong. Clarke hummed as she flipped the page with her pinky, careful not to get any of the apple juice on it. Symptoms include nausea, fever, constipation, coughing fits, chills, occasional head-

"Shit," a voice in front of her grunted. She looked up just in time to see a guy in a bike going straight for her.

"Oh my God," she screeched, jumping to the side only to trip on her own feet and fall backwards on her butt.

"I am so sorry, I didn't see you," the guy jumped right off his bike and hurried to Clarke, offering her his hand. She glared at him before groaning at the folder. Papers were scattered about and her apple had rolled off into the mud. Great.

"You're the one riding the bike, aren't you always looking ahead of yourself?" she hissed, dusting the dirt from the back of her jeans after she stood up.

"Yeah, you're totally right," he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head, "I was looking at my GPS. I'm a messenger, and I just, I'm really sorry."

"No, it's alright," she huffed, leaning down and collecting her papers, "I should have watched where I was going too."

"So I guess we're both kinda in this together, huh?" He gave her a sheepish grin and Clarke laughed, shaking her head.

"I'm Clarke."

"Finn."

It turned out the patient had some kind of infection in the digestive system along with a cold. Clarke had to hook them up to some fluids, brought them some pills that should fight the infection off, and even fluffed their pillow. She had finally gotten a break and was sitting in the break room, a granola bar in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The clock on the wall told her it was almost eleven at night, so she only had one hour of work left.

"Long night?"

"Wells?" Clarke blinked the sleepiness from her eyes and put the bar down as her long time friend slid into the chair across from her. He still had his dress shirt and slacks on, but his tie was loose and a few buttons undone to show of the white t-shirt he wore. She was surprised to see him here so late. Of course, he would stop by whenever he had the chance, but usually it was in the afternoon. The firm he had an internship at was just down the block, so their always tried to get lunch together. On late nights like this, he'd just go home after shooting her a text.

"I thought I'd stop by, check up on you," he shrugged, leaning back in the chair.

"Is it because tomorrow's …," she narrowed her eyes, looking over his face before groaning, "Wells, I'm fine. How many times do I have to tell you? It's been … a while."

"I know, I just wanted to … yeah, sorry."

"Don't apologize," she snorted, kicking him under the table, "I'm glad I have a friend like you who checks up on me."

Wells gave her a soft smile, the one he used for people he loved and not people he was trying to win over. Lawyers were tricky, but Wells was one of the most charismatic and charming people she'd ever met. It was no surprise he picked law for his studies. Clarke on the other hand … she always loved hearing the stories about her mom's day at work, even strived to be the Chief of Surgery at a hospital someday like her mother. But her love for art seemed like it was slowly taking over. The only reason she didn't try to pursue it was because of her father's death.

"Hey," Wells kicked her gently under the table, "do you want Chinese tomorrow, or Thia?"

"Mmm, Chinese. That one place off of-"

"Central, I know," Wells stood up and grabs his messenger bag from off the back of the chair, "I'll see you tomorrow Clarke."

"Yeah, see you."

The rest of the night was pretty slow. She read a little kid a book so she could fall asleep, changed the dipper of a few babies, and then made sure everyone on her designated floor got their night time pills. Still, when the clock read twelve thirty, she was glad to be going home, even if it was half an hour later. Her car lit up and she drove the few blocks back to her apartment, but stopped and got a small pizza from some twenty-four hour chain pizza shop.

Her couch is practically singing her nap and she flops down without even attempting to change into her pjs or grab a plate for the pizza. She just slides it onto the coffee table, flips it up and takes a slice. She fumbled for the remote for a moment before switching on some silly dating show. It would do.

Her cat jumped up next to her on the couch and she rubbing him with her toe, the tom purring happily before settling between her feet at the end, watching the television as well. She finished about three and a half slices before finally drifting off to sleep.

The shrill ringtone of her phone woke her up.

_My milkshake bring all the boys to the yard, and their like, it's better then your, damn right it's-_

"Octavia," Clarke groaned into the phone, pinching the bridge of her nose, "what time is it?"

"Clarke, I know it's super late and you're probably exhausted but I-I need your help."

"Can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"I-It's my brother, something happened and-" the girl started to ramble off and Clarke listened as she talked about a mugging and how she found her brother sitting outside the bar he worked out, bloody and bruised and she couldn't wake him up. The younger girl seemed hysterical and Clarke soothed her before standing up.

"Can't you take him to the hospital? They'd probably be more help than me."

"We, ah, I don't know if … Bellamy knows all the insurance details and-"

"It's okay," Clarke sighed, rubbing a hand over her face as she shuffled to the bathroom, "just, tell me what's wrong so I know what to bring."

"Ah, there's a lot or bruises, his forehead is sliced open, but I stopped the bleeding. It's pretty bag though. And his hands are all bloody, I-I think he tried to fight back or something, I don't know."

Clarke held the phone between her cheek and her shoulder as she flipped through the contents of her personal first aid kit. His made sure she had everything needed in order to treat the man and hummed or a moment before finding her sewing needle and thread inside of it.

"Alright, let me change out of my scrubs. Text me the address."

"Thank you," it sounded as if Octavia had been holding her breath. "I really, I don't know what to say and thanks doesn't seem like enough, but-"

"It's fine, O," Clarke smiled gently, "just be there for him, make sure he's, you know, breathing and all."

Octavia laughed on the other end before hanging up and Clarke phone quickly lit up with the address.

_4th Street, Dropshore Apartments, # 319_

After a quick change into paint splattered jeans and a flimsy tank top, Clarke grabbed the med kit, stuffed her phone in her pocket, and left.


End file.
